White Violets
by boysinperil
Summary: Written for Chrismukkah 2012, prompt "waking up married." It starts with a wedding and ends with a wedding, though not the ones you may expect. Fluff/romance.


Puck woke with a start, wincing at the light filtering through the sheer curtains overlooking the Strip. A quick check of the clock showed it was only around 10 am; not too bad for a morning-after. He wondered how the night had gone; he remembered Finn's reception, and deciding on a tour of the best and worst of Las Vegas with the rest of New Directions after the bride and groom had taken off, but not much past that – mostly flashes of sweaty dancing and soft skin and an amazing smell.

The sound of the shower gave him his first clue; obviously, he hadn't spent the night alone. _Puckzilla's still got it,_ he thought with a leer. Looking around the hotel room turned up another clue – a man's dress shirt, and the scent, the same one from the dancing, was definitely boy. Interesting; he would have figured he'd pick up chicks in Vegas, but hey, what happened here stayed here, right? He didn't mind being some businessman's good time.

Whoever was in that shower was going to have to share, though, because Puck really needed some aspirin, now that he thought about it, and he had this perfectly good morning wood going to waste. Shower-sex was always fun.

"Dude? I'm coming in."

*

And with those words, Kurt Hummel's luck ran out.

He had woken up warm and comfortable, cheek resting on a broad back, arm around a flat waist. It felt so nice that he'd just let himself drift for a few minutes – trying, in part, to figure out how he had gotten here, and just who he was curled up around. It's not like he hadn't had a one-night stand or three in the years since he and Blaine had parted ways, better friends than lovers, but it wasn't really in his nature.

He remembered dancing with Rachel & Tina & Mike & Lauren at Surrender, and there may have been swimming? He remembered…karaoke. Duets with…

Puck. _Please_ don't let this be Puck he was spooning. Naked. _Fuck fuck fuck._ Naked with Puck who was also naked and _dear god I don't believe in please let me get out of this bed,_ as he tried to stealth his way away from the sleeping body next to him as quickly as possible.

Kurt got his panic under control once he had made it to the bathroom. _Let's look at this calmly. It's 10 in the morning. My clothes – the clothes I wore last night – are out there in that room with Puck. I smell like a bar. I am Kurt Fucking Hummel and I am not doing the walk of shame in last night's clothes, not without at least a shower._

Of course, the door opened as he shut off the water. _Awesome._ Naked and wet was exactly how he hoped to confront Puck, really. At least the soap was out of his eyes.

In retrospect, he was proud of how steady he kept his voice. "Could you hand me a towel, since you're in here?"

*

And with those words, fortune smiled on Noah Puckerman.

Kurt was his mystery dude? _No way. No freakin' way._ Kurt. The guy he had tortured, and apologized to, and built a tentative friendship with in high school. The man he had admitted to Lauren he had a boycrush on, which was part desire, part respect, and part affection. The man who had been with his high school sweetheart up until just a few years ago, and no way was Puck getting in between that or being a rebound bootycall. And yet here they were, both naked, and Kurt was wet and lovely and –

"Puck. Stop staring. Just give me the towel, and let me dry off and get out of here with some semblance of dignity."

Puck dug through his luggage and found a shirt and a pair of jeans which fit Kurt reasonably well – okay, really he looked smoking hot wearing Puck's clothes and if Kurt wasn't freaking out about their _tryst_, as he put it, he'd be trying to get them off him again. As it was, he settled for a quick snap with his cell camera and trying to be a gentleman, while Kurt talked a hundred miles an hour as he searched for his things.

"…really, it's probably best if we just forget this ever happened, and I'll get your clothes to you sometime soon, and right now I just need to go and collapse and get ready for dinner tonight and then our plane and – what the actual fuck is this?" Puck stopped pretend-listening and staring at Kurt, and took in the paper in his hand.

A marriage license from the state of Nevada, via The Little Church of the West, dated Saturday, November 25th, 2017, registrants listed as Noah Puckerman and Kurt Hummel.

Kurt was torn between balling it up and throwing at Puck just as hard as he could, tearing it into a million pieces, and collapsing in laughter on the spot at the stunned look on Puck's face, which, to be fair, probably matched his own. Then flight won the adrenaline war, and with a simple "I cannot deal with this right now, I just can't," Kurt Hummel ran.

*

There was one last wedding activity planned before everyone scattered back to his or her own little corner of the world, and that was an early dinner before late flights out. After an afternoon of staring at the certificate in disbelief and looking up "annulments" on his iPhone, Kurt arrived early and pounced on Tina & Lauren as soon as they walked in the door, practically pushing Mike out of the way. Before either of them could say a word, he hissed, "Your names are on my _marriage license_, would you like to explain this in the bar before _everyone else_ gets here?"

Lauren laughed long and loud, and while Tina had the grace to look a little bit sheepish, Mike answered for them. "No, Kurt, we were all there. It was a lovely wedding! You sang_Taking Chances_ to each other, and – ow!" Kurt shut him up by slugging him on the arm.

"I'm glad you're all amused, but I don't think it's very funny that I don't remember my wedding to a man I barely know outside of high school, which was five years ago."

"What does he think about it?" Lauren asked, raising an eyebrow at Kurt. "Because I _do_know him, and I know damned well that he's had a thing for you since junior year."

Mike nodded in agreement. "Yep. Remember your expedition to Dalton? He was bummed for a month after you left; he cried during your performance at Sectionals or Regionals or whatever it was with those Warblers. It was disturbing."

"We don't even live in the same city," Kurt said. "How in the world can we be _married?_"

"Kurt. You live an hour and a half away from each other in different suburbs of Chicago. You're getting bogged down in the details," Tina began, just as the rest of New Directions arrived.

"Details? I'm suddenly _married._ That's a pretty big detail!" Kurt turned his back on the three of them and plastered on his brightest smile to greet the rest of the club. Puck tried to pull him aside to talk, noting with some dismay that Kurt had changed clothes, but Kurt was having none of it and focused his attention on the bride and groom instead.

Three glasses of wine later, though, Kurt reached across the table and touched Puck's hand. "Walk with me?"

Puck nearly knocked his chair over in his hurry. Mike, Tina & Lauren broke into laughter yet again as they left, and Kurt just knew that the table conversation had turned to their impromptu nuptials. The air outside the restaurant was cooler than he expected, and it helped with the blush that wine and embarrassment had put on his cheeks.

He and Puck began to speak at the same time, of course, but Puck waved Kurt ahead.

"Look. I don't know you, Puck. I don't know if you want kids, or what career you've chosen, or if you like flannel sheets or cotton or even how you take your coffee!"

"Yes, emergency medical service, depends on the season, and strong and black. Does that help? How about knowing that I really do think I love you, and have since we were seventeen?"

"That's insane. You know nothing about me. We have nothing in common. This was a drunken escapade we can laugh about later, but right now we just need to get an annulment and _move on_."

"Just give me a month, Kurt. If you're still set on an annulment or divorce or whatever, we can do that, but give me a little time to show you that I meant it, even if we don't remember it."

"Fine," Kurt muttered. "You've got until New Year's Day; god knows it'll take that long to get the paperwork going anyway. We can trade phone numbers and email addresses, since we've already exchanged bodily fluids and wedding vows." He knew he was being a bitch, but the situation was just so _ridiculous_.

Confirming his earlier suspicions, the table went quiet when they came back in. When Mike said they were all involved, he had meant it.

It turned out Kurt got to to hear about the wedding itself from Lauren, as she was on his flight home to Chicago and gave his seatmate the stinkeye until he traded with her.

"You were both SO in to it, and you insisted on the Little Church of the West because 'Judy Garland was married here, _Judy Garland_'. And Puck sprang extra for the French-speaking minister because you thought it was so romantic. Have I mentioned that he's kind of in love with you?"

"Only at least three times since we left the restaurant, Lauren. But please, don't let me stop you." He had been hoping to tune her out and try to escape in sleep, or the SkyMall catalog, or _anything_, but she proceeded to talk for nearly three hours about Puck, and his life. She spared no detail, from stuff Kurt knew already (single mom, douchebag dad, younger sister, badass attitude) to things he never knew and was pretty sure Puck wouldn't have wanted shared (goals, dreams, insecurities). By the time they finally landed, Kurt knew far more about Noah Puckerman than he ever thought he would – and against his better judgment, he liked what he heard.

He blew off Monday morning's classes, haunted by dreams of showing up at his own wedding naked alternating with pornloops about Puck, and _gee, subconscious, could you be any less subtle?_. He dragged himself to work only ten minutes late, and his co-worker greeted him with a cheery hello and said, "_Someone_ must have had a good weekend in Vegas." She pointed to a simple arrangement of flowers at his workstation. "They came in around noon; there's a card. Who are they from?" He could tell it had taken all of her self-control not to call him.

"My husband, I'll bet," he replied absently, opening the envelope. She was stunned into silence for all of 1.8 seconds before she squealed, "_Husband?_ Tell me _every single thing_!" Kurt shushed her with a promise of a gossip session on break, and read the card.

_**Kurt, thanks for giving me – giving us – a chance. Puck**_

Half an hour into the shift, he received a text message, the first of many.

_I like dark beer and good Indian food._

_I really hated that 'hawk but kept it because everyone else hated it more._

I see Beth once every few months, when I can get to New York./i

_I figured out I was bi about a year later than I wish I had._

_I secretly watched_ Friends _every day after school. I still watch it when I can't sleep._

The final text of the evening read _I like to cook. Will you join me for dinner on Friday?_This one Kurt responded to, with a simple _yes_.

The rest of the week went by similarly, except that Kurt began to send his own bits of information in response, admitting to things both silly and reflective. He figured it was only fair, and that if nothing else, they could be good friends when this was over. He also began receiving occasional messages from New Directions. Mike wanted to know if he'd let Puck off the hook yet, and Kurt assured him that if he was there in person he would hit Mike again.

Dinner went surprisingly well. Puck cooked an amazing beef stew with homemade bread and a sour-tart salad, and they ate and talked their way through dinner and the six-pack of Northwind Stout Kurt brought. Their text sessions made it surprisingly comfortable, but Kurt still shied away from Puck's offered kiss good night when he left.

The second week, he discovered that Tina & Lauren had dragged Rachel & Mercedes into their scheming; he was sure Puck was asking Rachel for tips when she started texting him as well. The final straw was when he began to get texts from_Blaine_, of all people, who should have been planning his _own_ wedding, Alex having popped the question over that same insane Thanksgiving weekend. Kurt told him as much when they talked that Wednesday night, and Blaine just laughed at him. "Kurt, I could tell he had a crush on you even back during the Dalton Term."

"I'm so glad none of you told me, then, since apparently _everybody_ knew," Kurt said, with only a little bit of edge to his tone. "Was I really so clueless?"

"You really were, babe," Blaine said, and Kurt had to laugh.

Their second Friday dinner was Indian take-out; Kurt was frazzled with finals and much as he'd have liked to return the favor, his whole world had become sustainability in urban economies and methods for public policy analysis and the sociology of organizations. Puck did his best to help, reading textbooks and peppering Kurt with questions, and after they ate, he convinced Kurt to let him give him a massage that stayed simply friendly, although Kurt suspected that Puck had to talk sternly to his libido. Still, he gave Puck a goodnight kiss this time; he had earned it.

The third week, there was a fresh bouquet of flowers delivered to his apartment, but the texts were replaced with a daily email exchange. Finals were over on Thursday, which gave Kurt all day Friday to pull together a Chanukah dinner straight off the Food Network website. Puck was surprised, and touched.

"I thought you didn't believe in God," he said, as they are washing up the dinner dishes.

"I don't. But if I learned anything from my father, it's what is sacred. Family is sacred."

Puck nearly dropped the glass he was drying. "Does that…I mean…do you …?"

Kurt took pity on him and took the glass and towel out of his hands, then placed those hands – strong, callused, beautiful hands – on his own waist.

"Yes. I said yes once, apparently, and I'm saying it again, now. Yes, Puck."

They spent a blissful weekend together, continuing to learn about each other. Kurt discovered that Puck was very ticklish, but only on the bottoms of his feet; Puck found that Kurt had a kinkier side than he would have expected, and wished Rachel had clued him in to that sooner. Like, _before_ he ended up tied to the bed. On Tuesday, they drove the five hours home to Lima for the holidays together, a true test of their relationship, and found that they could even compromise on music and food stops. They spent an hour in Puck's driveway saying goodbye and trying to figure out how to tell their parents – the one thing they _hadn't_ managed yet.

For all that he wanted this more than anything, Puck very nearly chickened out twice on his way to the Hummel's place and ran back home. To his mother and sister and her boyfriend and _fuck they were going to have to do this twice weren't they? Why hadn't they just done it once, all together, and gotten it over with like ripping off a bandaid?_

"Because that wouldn't look suspicious at all, Noah," Kurt hissed at him, but then he apologized. "You're probably right, it would have been easier. It's too late now, though; let's just go out there and get this over with."

They were in the kitchen, ostensibly preparing the Christmas dinner while everyone watched the Browns play football in the living room.

"Hey, Mohawk, didn't hear you come in."

"Dad, he hasn't had a mohawk since 2012."

"Happy holiday, Mr. & Mrs. H." Puck held out a fist to Finn, and gave Mrs. Finn a quick hello. "How's the game going?"

"McCoy's gotten a helluva lot better in the last five years, that's for sure. And no tight end jokes from you, Kurt."

"No worries, Dad; they write themselves. It's not my fault the quarterback has a pornstar name. Who names their son Colt?"

Finn tried desperately not to laugh at how visibly uncomfortable Kurt and Puck were, trying hard not to sit too close together or touch each other. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer and just did it for them.

"Burt, Mom – I think Kurt's got something to tell you."

"What? I mean yes, but – thanks, Finn, you jerk." Kurt was torn between wishing the world would swallow him up, and feeling better than he had in ages. He straightened up, and took Puck's hand. "Remember Finn's wedding?"

_Two Months Later_

"Are you sorry you didn't get all this?" Puck asked.

"I love the pomp, but I wouldn't trade you for any of it. And I can't possibly take the spotlight off the boys today."

"Who gets married on Valentine's Day? In Vegas, again?"

"Blaine has always been a cheeseball, and Alex has family in California, and I think Blaine & the girls might possibly have been scheming to get us together here again," Kurt laughed. His ex-boyfriend and Puck's ex-girlfriend had worked awfully hard on this; it would be a shame to disappoint them.

"Hey! It's time to throw things," came Alex's shout, and he and Blaine positioned themselves at the top of the short stairs to the dance floor, pulled the flowers from each other's suits, and tossed them to the crowd below. Puck reached up and snagged one of them, and tucked it in to Kurt's vest pocket.

"Maybe someday soon we can do it again, with more pomp," he said, smiling, and kissed Kurt soundly as the crowd burst into applause.


End file.
